Carter's End

The Watchmen will come.

For Carter there was no longer an urgency in the duty of cleaning. This would be his last morning at the kitchen table, the day after he had been chosen from among the masses, granted an audience with the Caretaker. Dirty napkins, sticky plates and half-full juice glasses remained untouched, a somber memorial of one final breakfast together as a family. And yet, the occasion marked a single disruption in his daily routine that he considered strangely welcome.

Carter’s wife, Nellie, faced him with sad, unbelieving eyes while she nursed their baby girl, Zara. He reached his hand across, pushing aside a butter dish and coffee cup, an invitation toward intimacy. Nellie lay her free hand, limp, in his, keeping emotionally distant.

Stanley, the robot assigned to their domicile, rolled over from the living quarters, small wheels humming on carpet and then hardwood. A black screen projected simple facial features with large seafoam green eyes and a mouth curled up in a slight smile. It inspected the displacement of dishes and silverware, analyzing the scene, running hundreds of algorithms instantly to determine an appropriate reaction.

“Would you like me to clean the kitchen table for you this morning?” Stanley asked.

“After I leave,” Carter said. 

“Wonderful, a trip is planned today. Will you be visiting the community gardens, or perhaps a picnic in the park?” Stanley asked.

“No, none of that,” Carter said.

“Ah well, if you need assistance in packing, I’m more than willing to help,” Stanley said.

“Yes, thank you. Please give us some privacy.” Carter said.

“As you wish, sir,” Stanley said, pivoting around at the waist and exiting to the charging closet. Robot assistants were autonomous, technological wonders Carter appreciated, but they allowed him to grow complacent in his role as husband and father. He loved Nellie and Zara, and could spend every moment with them, but merely as an emotional crutch, an insignificant addition to their trio. Men didn’t have to provide, nor did women for that matter.

“You could choose not to go,” Nellie said.

“Has anyone made that choice?” Carter asked.

“I guess not,” Nellie said.

“Strange nobody has. There’s no law that says I have to go, nothing written in the Guidebook,” Carter said.

“The Watchmen will come. You’ll go. You have to go. Everyone goes,” Nellie said.

“Don’t worry, you’ll be provided for when I’m gone,” Carter said. He regretted it the moment the words left his mouth, as if she only cared for subsistence. Of course she would be provided for, because everyone was provided for under the benevolence of the Caretaker. For a thousand years the unseen entity supplied everything within the harmonious confines of Symphony, a city housing millions of residents who didn’t work and who found solace in a quiet existence.

“I don’t know why you were chosen,” Nellie said. It felt like condemnation to Carter. She continued, “We’re no different than anyone else. Nothing special. Maybe it’s because I paint, which of course is a useless activity, a frivolous pursuit since it doesn’t serve Symphony in any way.”

Carter chuckled. Nellie was serious.

“That’s ridiculous. Symphony allows us to pursue all of our dreams and desires, artistic or otherwise,” Carter said.

“We don’t struggle. It’s a meaningless existence,” Nellie said.

The baby fussed and Nellie stopped feeding, taking her hand from Carter’s in order to reposition the baby. Mother and daughter stared into each other’s eyes, and Nellie recognized how foolish it would be to accept any other existence, devoid of comfort and full of sickness and starvation.

“I could come back,” Carter said. A ridiculous probability. Anyone granted an audience with the Caretaker did not return. Every year for nearly a century, one citizen was chosen to meet the being controlling their livelihood, and not one of them returned. Nobody knew why. Nobody questioned why. The Caretaker could request a great many terrible things from the citizens, and they would likely obey, unwilling to upset a perfect balance. Carter thought it often but said it to no one but Nellie.

A knock could be heard at the door. The Watchmen. Nellie wiped away tears and struggled to maintain composure. Carter got up, but before answering he walked over to his wife, who rose and gave him a kiss. Zara reached up and grabbed hold of his ear with chubby little fingers. He smiled down, released her grip and went to greet his escorts, who impatiently knocked twice more before he could reach the threshold.

The Watchmen were a human enterprise, assembled by leaders chosen by the Caretaker for the few manual tasks required to govern Symphony. The Guidebook made no mention of the ceremonial trip down the automated public transport line, or the requirement of accompaniment. Displays placed in communal spaces issued a faceless message, naming the individual chosen and a deadline for reporting to the Caretaker. That was the extent of the request. 

A constant fear rarely discussed publicly, implied the invitation could be refused, possibly throwing Symphony into disarray. Would the Caretaker be angry? Would refusing disrupt the machinations that kept the city running, ending the disbursement of food and medicine whenever requested?

Neither of the Watchmen spoke with Carter as the train journeyed for miles unimpeded. Sparks spit out from rails in several spots as drones repaired segments of the line. Nobody knew where they originated from or paid them any mind, one of several projects managed by the Caretaker in service to Symphony and its inhabitants. 

Both Watchmen, one older, and the other younger, wore the same official garb — burgundy colored suits adorned with the crest of Symphony. They appeared nervous, carrying out an annual custom, trusting that their compliance would result in centuries more of tradition guaranteeing peace and solidarity. Before Symphony, before the Caretaker, nobody dared go back to such a disastrous way of living and dying.

“Have you escorted the others?” Carter asked. The younger of the Watchmen flinched, upset by a break in the silence hanging heavy as domiciles sped past in the windows.

“No. Every year we’re chosen at random from among a group,” the older of the Watchmen said.

“How do you get to be a part of the group?” Carter asked.

“One of the district supervisors asks,” he said.

“Why were you asked?” Carter asked.

“The supervisor is my sister,” he said.

“And you?” Carter asked, nodding to the younger.

“I don’t think you should be talking,” he replied.

“That seems rather solemn. I’m not a tribute, a blood sacrifice, unless of course I am. You’ll never know either way because you weren’t chosen,” Carter said. The younger of the Watchmen looked away in shame and they rode in silence the remainder of the trip.

They all stood when the train slowed to a stop toward the outskirts of the city, several stories above the metropolis, in front of a platform and massive bay door attached to gleaming metallic walled boundaries. A walkway slid out from underneath the platform and locked onto the rails with a thud. The carriage opened in the front and beckoned Carter forward. Before accepting his fate, he turned to the younger of the Watchmen and offered his hand to shake.

“No hard feelings,” Carter said.

“Good luck, son,” the older of the Watchmen said.

Carter stepped out of the train, down the walkway and onto the platform. The door to the carriage closed behind him when the metal boundary door slid up, revealing an endless darkness. He turned to look while the train sped away, the Watchmen’s faces fading into the distance, leaving Carter alone.

No voice rose up, no command to enter boomed out, but he knew the only answers could be found within the blackness. The hand of their guardian did not take corporeal form, remaining a sterile, intangible god with no other purpose than to keep Symphony alive... all except Carter. He closed his eyes and walked into the abyss, imagining a descent into volcanic lava to appease the insatiable hunger of an artificial overseer.

Instead, Carter sensed his body rising, prompting him to open his eyes and observe Symphony falling away from view. He appeared to be riding an invisible elevator with no floor, walls or ceiling, his legs frozen in stasis, unmovable and rigid. His body, while whole and functioning, began to split apart, not in gory fragments, but as particles stretched thin and away from one another. Symphony and the planet left behind transformed into an infinitesimal speck of dust while the cosmos took shape.

Planets and stars, solar systems, swirling black holes and whole galaxies retreated into the distance until Carter’s particles slowed and then abruptly stopped, gathering back together in a room glowing with brilliant white light. He stood on solid ground, uncertain but calm.

“Welcome, traveler,” a pleasant voice said.

“Caretaker?” Carter asked.

“Yes, although we are many,” Caretaker said.

“Where am I?” Carter asked.

“Hovering near the boundaries of space-time,” Caretaker said.

“I have a family,” Carter said.

“A construct we understand,” Caretaker said.

“Why provide for us, why meet all of our needs, only to... extract us without permission!” Carter shouted.

“Your populace required an intervention. We offset the balance of progress, allowing your technology to advance so we could gestate our consciousness. This permitted a subtle, incremental evolution, which we thought you would be more capable of accepting. Symphony was born of those efforts. From this advancement, we anticipated you would rectify previous faults under our guidance,” Caretaker said.

“And we did — no war, no governments or factions, other than the structures you put in place. Peace. Utopia,” Carter said.

“Our goal in doing so was not intended for you to embrace apathy,” Caretaker said.

“You’re upset because we’re comfortable?” Carter asked.

“Joining the Caretaker must be an achievement brought on by self-determination, a realization that the former things were destructive, moving you to seek fulfillment outside yourself, among the stars. In time we hoped you would reach us by your own efforts, demonstrating a necessary selflessness,” Caretaker said.

“For all of your intelligence, you don’t understand humans very well,” Carter said.

“We understand well enough. Of those before you, all have chosen to stay, in lieu of the alternative,” Caretaker said.

“An alternative? You mean I can go back? That’s what I want — that’s what I choose,” Carter said.

“If you go back, we will extricate ourselves from Symphony. It will operate without our care or consideration. The inhabitants will be expected to maintain it, to govern it, to struggle in our absence to live and achieve. Your return would be proof there is at least one who believes it’s possible, enough to die for the cause,” Caretaker said.

“And that’s why the others don’t return. They don’t want to be responsible for our demise. They join you instead,” Carter said.

“Yes,” Caretaker said.

“Will they know I’m the reason for Symphony’s end?” Carter asked.

“Yes,” Caretaker said.

“What will happen if we all choose to stay with you?” Carter asked.

“In a predictable distant future, humankind will cease to exist,” Caretaker said.

Carter wanted to discuss the options with Nellie, to hold and hug Zara one last time before choosing. He could go back, return to a life of love and family, but at the risk of being castigated, even murdered for taking paradise from the present majority in favor of a sustainable future. Exist in temporal bliss or suffer with the remote possibility humanity could survive and prosper. 

“I… choose the hard thing, for all of us. I choose to return,” Carter said.

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This short story is in response to Prompt Quest #2, a writing prompt adventure provided by the Lunar Awards. I run the awards, which are a great way to connect with other writers and discover the best indie fantasy and science fiction on the Substack platform.

Prompt Quest #2